by Nancy Isaak
“Laura says that they’re in the middle of the basement. The door will open up in the kitchen. If everything happens the way she thinks it will, the two guys will probably both be on the top floor.”
“Pete is in the kitchen.” The voice was soft and female—coming from a darkened corner of the room.
“Farrah,” I whispered, “is that you?”
“Did Laura send you? She promised me she’d come back.”
I moved carefully across the basement, the shadows receding as my light led the way. Above me, I heard the floor creak, as if someone was walking overhead.
Rhys held up his gun, preparing to shoot through the ceiling.
“Don’t!” I reached out and quickly pushed his arm down. “We shoot only if we have to!”
The soft voice came again, warning us—frantic. “He’s going to come downstairs now! You have to hide!”
“Get behind those boxes!” I ordered Rhys, pointing to a large stack near the staircase. “I’ll hide on the other side. We wait until he reaches the bottom of the staircase, then we take him.”
The door above us opened; a sliver of light shone downstairs, just enough for me to see the black-haired girl, sitting on a dirty mattress in the corner of the room. She was handcuffed to the metal bedstead and wearing a stained and ripped dress.
As I raced behind the staircase, our eyes met. I had been expecting to see fear—instead, I saw determination. The girl actually smiled at me, nodded once—then turned her head toward the wall.
Meanwhile, the guy—Pete—left the kitchen door ajar as he walked down the basement stairs. He moved slowly, stomping from one step to another, slapping his foot down hard on each riser, obviously for effect. “Here, piggy-piggy…here, little pig.”
I realized that I still had the tea candle in my hand. Quickly, I blew it out, worried that Pete would see its meager light. Placing the candle carefully on a nearby box, I reached into my jacket and pulled out my gun.
Stomp—stomp…Pete moved down two steps.
Across from me, Rhys held up his gun questioningly. I shook my head at him and he moved back, melting into the darkness.
Stomp—stomp…another two steps.
“Here, piggy-piggy…papa needs his bacon.”
Farrah moved in her bed, drawing up her legs into a near fetal position.
Stomp…just seven more steps to go.
“Brought my skinning knife, piggy-piggy. Gonna’ get me some bacon!”
“Oh, screw this!” Crossing to the back of the staircase in two, quick steps, I reached through the risers and grabbed Pete’s ankles and pulled. With a gasp, he went down hard—tumbling down the stairs, his head bouncing off the wall. He landed at the bottom—unmoving—blood seeping from a gash in his forehead.
Rhys came out from behind his boxes, staring down at Pete’s unconscious form. “Well, this definitely wasn’t the plan we’d settled on.”
I shrugged. “He was annoying me.”
* * * *
The key to the handcuffs was in Pete’s pocket. As Rhys tied up and gagged the unconscious boy, I used the key to unlock Farrah. Freed, she immediately leaned down on shaky legs and scooped up Pete’s knife, placing it up to his neck—the look on her face one of fury.
Rhys moved to my side, whispering in my ear. “Should we take it from her?”
I shook my head. “Just let her figure it out herself.”
“Well, I’m figuring on killing him,” the girl grunted.
“You might want to wait until we get Mia,” I suggested. “In case we need him, for whatever reason.”
“Then, I can kill him?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said, honestly. “But I’m also not going to stop you.”
She took the knife from his neck. “Okay.”
There was a sudden peal of thunder from outside of the house. It was followed by the light patter of rain, starting slowly, then building to a hard and quick pace.
Another storm had arrived.
“Jude and Laura,” Rhys said, quietly.
“I know…come on.” Lifting my gun up, I headed for the stairs. “Farrah, you should probably stay here.”
The girl was obviously very weak, covered in cuts and bruises. I didn’t want to think about the other wounds she carried; the very thought angered and sickened me.
“Diego will be with Mia,” she said, as she limped toward us. “In the top bedroom, at the very end of the hallway.”
Except he wasn’t.
* * * *
Before I could stop her, Farrah limped up the basement stairs and pushed her way through the kitchen door. As she did, Diego reached out an arm and pulled her toward him; how long he had been hiding behind that door, I didn’t know.
“Stupid piggy,” he snickered, sliding the knife he was holding across Farrah’s throat. She began to collapse, blood seeping from the long, deep cut—disbelief written all over her face.
Rhys and I raced up the basement stairs—two steps at a time.
We reached the top just as Farrah fell to the floor. She was clutching at her throat, her hands covered in blood.
“Help her, Rhys!” I yelled—at the same time, jumping for Diego.
He was a big guy—much bigger than me. Like Brandon, his muscles looked steroid-built, and he had that acne I sometimes saw on kids who shot up.
“This is my house!” he yelled at me, slashing forward. “And that was my property!”
I leapt backwards, just enough so that Diego’s knife sliced just in front of my stomach. Flipping the knife to his other hand, Diego slashed at me from the opposite direction. This time the knife caught the edge of my jacket; it split open, a thin line that stretched from one side of my chest down to my waist on the other.
“Messing with mine,” growled Diego, moving the knife from one hand to another. “You gonna’ learn some respect, piggy.”
Behind me, I could hear gurgling—Farrah struggling to breathe—but I didn’t dare turn to look. Instead, I moved forward—toward Diego—lifting up my gun to fire.
“Respect this, asshole,” I growled back. “You brought a knife to a gunfight!”
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
I heard the shots—but I hadn’t fired, yet.
* * * *
Four shots—my brain immediately went to Jude and Laura.
Had their plan failed and—even now—were they calling for help?
Then, I realized that Diego was slowly falling to the ground, a bullet hole in his head. Behind him, Jude emerged from the shadows. She was covered in blood and held a smoking revolver in her hand.
“You’re bleeding,” I said.
“It’s not mine,” Jude said, grimly.
Laura suddenly shot past Jude, rushing to where Rhys had his hand against Farrah’s neck. The young girl was pale and clammy—blood coming from her mouth, as well as, seeping from between Rhys’ fingers.
Yet, Farrah looked happy—was actually smiling.
Kneeling down beside the young girl, Laura took Farrah’s hand and leaned her forehead against the girl’s. She whispered something in Farrah’s ear, words I couldn’t hear.
The young girl nodded slightly.
Then—she died.
* * * *
“I’m so sorry,” I said to Laura. “Diego was hiding at the top of the stairs. She rushed by me and he got her.”
Laura didn’t say anything, simply picked up her gun and headed up the staircase. Jude, Rhys, and I followed more slowly.
“What happened out there?” I asked Jude.
“It went pretty much the way we were hoping,” she said. “Dude came over to the feed bin and leaned his rifle against the wall. When he did, we got him.”
“Is he still alive?”
She shook her head. “Not even close.”
* * * *
The first thing I noticed was the smell; the room stank of mold and urine and other horrors I didn’t want to think about. There was a large bed in the center, with attached end tables covered with empty
beer cans on either side. The walls had once been painted a soft green, but they were stained now—arcs of dried urine spreading out across them.
Jude and Rhys stood with me, staring down at Mia. She had once been very pretty, but now she looked like a skeleton. The bones jutted out of her naked body, angles of neglect that made me look away in pity.
“I told you I’d be back!” said Laura, rushing to kneel down beside Mia. The older girl slowly turned her head to look at Laura, but didn’t say a word.
Moving forward, Rhys held up the handcuff key we’d taken from Pete’s body. “Laura…here.”
She took the key from him and Rhys moved back beside me.
Jude, however, moved forward—helping Laura to unlock the traumatized girl. Between the two of them, they maneuvered her into a sitting position. There was a mirror behind Mia and, in its reflection, I could see that her back was covered in bruises and what looked to be cigarette burns.
“Where are her clothes?” Jude asked Laura.
The younger girl shrugged. “Probably gone a long time ago.”
Quickly, I took off my jacket and moved forward. As I did, Mia’s eyes moved slowly toward me. I immediately stopped—not wanting to scare her—and held out the jacket to Jude instead. “Here—use this for now.”
Jude took the jacket and, with Laura’s help, managed to thread Mia’s bony arms through its sleeves. The jacket was way too big for the girl, but it would have to do until we could find her something else to wear.
There was another peal of thunder outside; a spindly light fixture above our heads shook from its force.
Rhys looked up at the ceiling, his frown betraying his worry. “Are we going to have to stay here tonight?”
Laura immediately spun around, furious. “No!”
“Your friend is hurt, Laura,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “It might not be wise to move her right now.”
“We are not staying in this hell house!” Laura told me. “Not one more minute!”
* * * *
I had to look away when Jude and Laura helped Mia stand up. There were streaks of blood all over the girl’s legs. She had been abused so badly, it was a miracle that she was still alive.
“We’re going to take you outside, Mia,” Laura told her. “Then, we’ll give you some food and water there, okay?”
Mia nodded once—a small movement that seemed to cost her dearly. Her eyelids began to flutter and I could tell that she was about to pass out.
“Let me carry her,” I said, moving forward. “She can’t walk right now…she shouldn’t walk.”
I could see that Laura was uncomfortable with me touching her friend, but Mia didn’t object when I picked her up in my arms. In fact, she seemed to relax, her head leaning against my shoulder, her left hand lightly touching my arm.
“You’re safe now,” I told her. “We’re going to take care of you.”
She gave another small nod, then her eyes closed.
“Get the bike trailer ready,” I instructed Rhys.
Before we had left Ventura, we had lined the bottom of the bike trailer with a couple of soft eider down comforters that we’d taken from the house where we’d stored the books. There was also a first aid kit in the trailer, something I truly wished we didn’t need to use.
What this poor girl had been put through…
* * * *
As we came out the front door, the rain—miraculously—let up, just long enough for us to place Mia in the bike trailer. She opened her eyes as I carried her through the yard, looking up into the cloudy sky, taking deep breaths of the cool, fresh air.
“It’s the first time she’s been outside since she was taken,” Laura told us.
Inside of me, the dark rage I’d been carrying flared up once more; it was intense—a fury unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
Rhys was holding open the flaps to the small tent-like enclosure on the trailer. He helped me lower Mia onto the comforters, carefully tucking a blanket around her. Meanwhile, Laura crawled inside with the girl, lifting her head up gently to slide a pillow underneath.
I noticed that Mia’s eyes had filled with tears. She reached out and touched Laura on the arm, a small movement of thanks.
The younger girl smiled down at her. “It’s going to be okay, now, Mia…I promise.”
“Far…rah?”
Laura froze, the look on her face one of severe distress. Mia seemed confused for a moment, then—realizing what must have happened—she began to cry softly.
And the darkness inside of me exploded.
“Stay with them!” I ordered Rhys. “Get Mia to drink some water. And give her a little orange juice out of one of the juice boxes. Just a few sips…no more, or she’ll be sick. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” asked my brother. He looked worried, as if he knew that I was about to do something that I would probably regret later.
When Rhys made a move as if to follow me, I yelled at him. “Stay!!”
I could feel Rhys’ eyes on my back as I returned to the house. Walking through the front door, there was a sudden flash behind me, followed quickly by the rumble of thunder. The rain began to fall again, a sudden and harsh downpour that seemed to echo the storm raging inside of me.
“Beasts,” I whispered to myself. “Rabid beasts who have to be put down!”
The kitchen lay ahead of me, at the end of the front hallway. I could see the oak dining table and chairs, the granite countertops—now dirty and covered with old food containers and soiled dishes. To the side of the room was the door to the basement; it was open, a rectangle of shadow leading down into the dark.
Pulling out my gun, I moved forward.
“…just a rabid beast.”
* * * *
I was shaking as I approached the basement door.
No matter how hard I was trying to convince myself that it was a beast down there—in my heart—I knew that I was about to murder a human in cold blood. One who had committed heinous crimes, certainly—but one who was also presently subdued, handcuffed, and unable to fight back.
Meanwhile, the rain was coming down harder. It thumped on the roof, a steady beat my feet used to push me forward—left, right, left, right, left. When I finally reached the basement door, I paused. Then, I took a deep breath and put my foot on the first step.
And withdrew it.
Because—Jude was coming up the stairs.
With a start, I realized that I hadn’t seen her come outside with us. Instead, she must have gone directly down into the basement. She was carrying Farrah’s dead body in her arms—the young girl’s head bouncing gently against her shoulder.
I reached out to help Jude with Farrah, but she pushed by me, using her foot to close the basement door behind her. “Let’s go home,” Jude told me. “I’m tired.”
The closed basement door…
“What did you do to him?” I asked. “With Pete…the guy downstairs?”
She sighed. “Nothing…dude died of his injuries, looks like.” Then, Jude turned and carried Farrah’s lifeless body out of the house.
I stood looking at that closed basement door for a few moments longer—wondering if I should go check on Pete.
But I didn’t.
Because Jude was right—dude had died of his injuries.
And—even though I knew that Jude had killed him—that was exactly what I would tell everybody.
* * * *
It wasn’t just the horses that we took away with us that night.
We also took Farrah’s body.
After what she had been through, there was no way that we’d leave her behind.
Rhys and I debated if—perhaps—we should even burn the house down. The rain became the deciding factor for us, however. With the storm raging, we doubted that we could keep a fire going long enough to destroy the hell hole. Instead, we decided to let time and the elements destroy it for us.
As we rode away from the house, I took one la
st look at it, trying to understand the horrors it had contained. I was still furious…and baffled. How could three supposedly normal guys possibly think it was okay to kidnap and traumatize girls?
It was simply beyond my understanding.
* * * *
Halfway down the mountain, we came to a small meadow. There were tiny blue flowers blooming there, their petals heavy with raindrops. The meadow edged up against a cliff, giving it an expansive view of the Ojai valley below. Even with the rain pelting down, it was obviously a beautiful place—serene.
“This is it!” Laura exclaimed, when she saw the meadow. “I think Farrah would like it, don’t you?”
Jude nodded. “She’s got flowers. That will be nice.”
“And she gets to look at Ojai. That’s where she came from, so she’d like that.”
I removed a small camping shovel that I had tied to the back of my bike. When I’d placed it there before leaving the Point, I hadn’t anticipated using it. Now here I was, digging a grave with it—for a young girl I had only known for an instant.
“Show me where you want it,” I told Laura. “Then, you wait with the others under that tree there. It’ll keep you dry.”
“Over there,” she pointed. “Right in the middle of all those flowers.”
* * * *
It took me over an hour to dig the grave.
Although the ground had been softened by the rain, my shovel was small and there were rocks everywhere. Still, I eventually had a hole large and deep enough—so Farrah’s body would be protected from both animals and the elements.
Taking care not to drop her, Jude and I slowly lowered Farrah’s body into the hole. Laura then covered Farrah with blue flowers that she had been collecting while I had been digging. Meanwhile, Rhys dug a second hole at the head of the grave, just big enough to plant a cross—one he had carefully carved from two branches and tied together with his own belt.
Through all of this, Mia had been sleeping in her trailer-tent, the flap tied open so we could monitor her. The horses grazed nearby, munching on clover and the pretty blue flowers.
